


No Small Feat

by muldertxf



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Clowns, Gen, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 15:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13720275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muldertxf/pseuds/muldertxf
Summary: The agents miss their opportunity to catch their suspect…or do they? (Set in season 6).





	No Small Feat

A thrush hopped branch to branch in search of lunch, as shadows began creeping over kicked cobblestones. Bleary skies coupled with a slicing wind had pocketed any hopes for a potential stakeout, much to Mulder’s chagrin.

He had smacked the foldout map across the dashboard in fury, the dry, rickety paper clicking harshly in his frustration. It rumpled to the floor in papery laughter. His mental cogs had felt as jumbled as the technicolor interstate lines on that damned map. They had blown it; these murders only struck every Thursday at the town fair. That’s the way it had been for the past month or so. Scully had remarked, in the way only a weathered pathologist could, that it was kind of funny how the town kept the attractions going despite the grizzly brutalities. Mulder couldn’t find any humor in such a scenario. This cold front had locked those gates, shut down the rides, and effectively stuck its tongue in their faces, as far as Mulder was concerned.

Scully had effectively shut him out, eyes locked on the faded yellow trailer that stalled just ahead. On its license plate, party balloons danced behind a metal string of numbers and letters, all chipped just slightly. She briefly considered honking the horn to hasten the driver. There were only two routes one could take here and said driver’s blinkers didn’t hint anything. She bit her lip.

She promised to call her mother at five. It was four-thirty now. Mulder would surely combust if she had to pull over to phone someone. (He would be compliant, but still, begrudgingly.) It wasn’t as if missing the call would be the worst thing ever, but she still preferred to muster some semblance of a personal life if she could. Mulder’s head jerked up, and she realized a groan had escaped her.

Scully shook her head sluggishly, patting the steering wheel. “Mulder, would you mind if we just went around this guy? He’s taking forever. Ugh, he’s—”

“Scully.”

“I just want to get back to the motel. Don’t you? It’s getting dark, we’re right near the crime scene, Mulder, keep this in mind. Kersh will have it in for us later no matter what, so why don’t we jus—"

“Shit! Scully,” Mulder whispered. His coat flapped like birds’ wings, hands feverishly feeling for his gun. A short-lived relief washed over him when his fingers touched the familiar metal hunk. He sucked his lips in, dark eyes fretting from firearm to windshield.

Scully’s eyes widened. Her gun fell into her palm. Scully’s thoughts immediately tore back to the case’s pictures, and a chill shimmied up her spine like a high striker game. The victims. The trailer’s door opened, its interior was painted key-lime green. The victims were all killed on the Tunnel Of Love ride. A large boot emerged from the truck’s door, the leg that wore it stockinged. A white hand shoved the door back into its place and rocked the trailer. Scully swallowed back a bitter lump in the back of her throat. The victims. The victims were all couples.

Bozo weld an axe, shiny and polished.

Mulder looked to Scully with a flat expression, but with his own hand betraying him as it trembled. Scully’s right pointer twitched.

“Mulder,” she drew out, low and breathily.

He nodded in loud silence to Scully, then the door. The rental car suddenly felt as if it had shrunk fifteen sizes. Mulder figured this guy couldn’t have had much of a plan. That axe looked heavy. The fact that it was shiny as well led him to believe this must be his first run with it. His getaway car of choice didn’t look very tidy or polished. The dude’s overalls looked to be sodden with sweat. Mulder grimaced. He had to be compensating for lack of game tonight. There was nothing for him to hunt—the carnival had closed. This guy had a quota to meet, and he had to meet it somehow. Mulder didn’t bother to check his wrist as the suspect carefully advanced across the dirt road. He felt the hours etched into his thumping temples like a pressing clock. Every Thursday, there’s a killing at five ‘o clock. He gulped.

“Hands up!” Mulder screeched. The side trees and wind nearly swallowed his voice.

“We’re armed. Don’t move,” Scully spoke against the sweeping air.

The figure lurched at them with a newfound energy, red pupils glowing with hatred. Long, flat shoes clapped the dirt. Scully gasped in horror, mind racing. Her trigger finger flew to its rightful place, and Mulder jumped.

The person collapsed in a rainbowy heap, a dirt cloud settling around it instead of cartoon birds. The weapon fell heavily from its grasp.

Scully sighed, putting away her weapon. As she wiped sweat off her forehead, Mulder advanced on the figure. Both of their breaths grew less rushed, and soon Scully trailed behind him.

Mulder placed his gun back in his coat, lips pursed. He eyed the suspect’s obnoxious red shoes.

“That was no small feat, Scully.”


End file.
